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CHAPTER NINETEEN

T wo days later, Xara woke before dawn. Ash slept beside her, his breathing deep and even, one arm flung protectively across her waist. She touched his forehead, checking for fever, but his skin was cool.

His wounds were already healing—faster than any human’s would—but she could still see the angry dark lines across his ribs.

She slipped carefully from beneath his arm, smiling as he growled softly in his sleep but didn’t wake. The pups were curled together at his side, tiny chests rising and falling in perfect synchronicity.

She’d thought she heard the sound of water a few days ago and she was determined to track it down, hoping for a more abundant source than the small trickle of spring water. With Ash recovering and the pups sleeping soundly, this was the perfect time.

Grabbing a makeshift torch from their supply pile, she lit it from the embers of last night’s fire and made her way toward the passage.

It was narrow but not cramped, the walls smooth as if worn by water over millennia.

The air grew cooler as she descended, carrying a faint mineral scent that reminded her of limestone caves back on Earth.

The torch cast dancing shadows on the walls, and as she moved deeper, she noticed markings etched into the stone. Not random scratches, but deliberate patterns—glyphs of some kind. She traced her fingers over them, feeling the precise indentations.

These weren’t natural formations. Someone—or something—had created them.

The markings became more elaborate as she continued, evolving from simple geometric patterns into complex pictographs. Some depicted what appeared to be tall, slender creatures with elongated limbs and large, compound eyes—unmistakably similar to the sketch Ash had drawn of the Tal’Shai.

“So this was their place once,” she murmured, fascinated.

One panel showed the Tal’Shai gathered around what looked like thermal vents, their hands extended toward the heat.

Another depicted them cultivating strange, bulbous plants that seemed to glow.

A third showed them communicating with other species—including one that looked suspiciously like the pups.

The history of an entire civilization, written in stone.

Her torch flickered, the flame guttering in a gentle breeze that shouldn’t exist this deep underground. Curious, she followed the draft, the tunnel widening as she walked. The sound reached her before the sight did—a soft, rhythmic lapping of water against stone.

The passage opened into a chamber that took her breath away.

A natural spring filled most of the cavern, its surface glassy and still except where a small waterfall trickled down from a crack in the ceiling.

Bioluminescent fungi clung to the walls, bathing everything in a soft purple glow that made the torch almost unnecessary.

Steam rose from the water’s surface—a hot spring, then. The air was humid and warm, a welcome change from the cool dampness of the tunnel.

She wedged her torch into a crack in the wall and approached the edge of the pool. She dipped her fingers in and sighed at the perfect temperature—hot enough to soothe tired muscles, but not scalding.

When was the last time she’d had a proper bath? The small basin of cool water she used for washing in the main cave was functional but hardly luxurious.

She glanced back toward the tunnel entrance. Ash would likely sleep for hours yet, and the pups rarely stirred before he did.

Decision made, she stripped quickly, laying her clothes on a dry rock ledge. The water welcomed her with silky warmth as she slipped in, enveloping her body in blessed heat. She dunked her head, running her fingers through her curls to work out the tangles, then surfaced with a contented sigh.

The pool was deeper than it looked—deep enough that she had to tread water in the center, though natural stone shelves around the edges provided convenient places to sit. She made her way to one such shelf and leaned back against the smooth rock wall, letting the heat seep into her muscles.

Her thoughts drifted back to Ash—to the way he’d spoken to her during his fever, to the vulnerability he’d shown.

To the way his silver eyes tracked her movements, lingering on her curves when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Each time the heat between them built, he pulled away, as if afraid of his own desires.

She understood his hesitation. He’d been created as a weapon, trained to destroy. The gentleness he showed her and the pups was a rebellion against everything he’d been programmed to be.

But she’d seen beyond the fearsome exterior to the male beneath—the one who chose mercy over murder, who cared for orphaned alien babies, who treated her with a reverence that made her heart ache.

A soft sound from the tunnel entrance snapped her from her reverie.

He stood there, silver eyes gleaming in the dim light, his big body filling the passage. His hungry gaze was fixed on her.

“Hi,” she said softly, making no move to cover herself. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He took a step into the chamber, his movements careful, favoring his injured side. “You didn’t.”

His voice still sent a thrill through her—deep and rough from disuse, but beautiful in its rarity.

“The pups?”

“Sleeping.”

He approached the edge of the pool, his eyes never leaving her. The bioluminescent light played across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the ripple of muscle beneath iridescent skin.

“The water’s perfect,” she said, holding out her hand to him. “Join me?”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to her outstretched fingers, then back to her face. Something vulnerable flickered in his expression—uncertainty, perhaps, or fear of his own desire.

“Unless your wounds?—”

“Healing,” he said, cutting her off, but he still didn’t move.

“Please,” she whispered.

That single word seemed to break something in him and he stripped away the leather cloth that encircled his hips. Her breath caught. He was glorious—all corded muscle and sleek power beneath that shimmering skin. And his cock...

She swallowed hard as it sprang free, already fully erect.

It was longer than a human penis, ridged with thick, raised bands that ran its length. The crown was shaped differently, more like a flat plate than a rounded tip. She had a sudden urge to know what that flat surface would feel like inside her.

He slipped into the water with barely a ripple, his natural grace undiminished even by injury. He kept his distance, watching her warily, as if expecting her to change her mind now that she saw all of him.

“Come here,” she said, her voice gentle but firm.

He moved closer, the water lapping around his broad shoulders. When he reached the ledge where she sat, he hesitated again.

She didn’t wait. She closed the distance between them, sliding her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. The contact drew a sharp intake of breath from him, his hands coming to rest tentatively on her waist.

“I want this,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “I want you.”

His silver eyes darkened, pupils expanding. “Why?”

The genuine confusion in his voice broke her heart. Had no one ever wanted him for himself? Had he only ever been a weapon, a tool?

“Because you’re beautiful,” she said simply. “Strong. Gentle when you want to be. Fierce when you need to be.” She brushed her lips against his. “Because you chose to save me when you could have let me die.”

His hands tightened on her waist, drawing her closer. “I couldn’t let you die.”

“I know,” she whispered against his mouth. “That’s why I want you.”

She kissed him then, a deep, hungry claiming, and he responded instantly, his mouth hot and demanding against hers, his arms wrapping around her to pull her flush against him.

His sensory tendrils curled around her shoulders, her waist, her thighs—touching everywhere at once, sending shivers of pleasure across her skin. She gasped into his mouth as one tendril brushed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and he swallowed the sound with a growl of approval.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against her lips, “and I will.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her hands framing his face. “Don’t you dare stop.”

Something fierce and possessive flashed in his eyes, and he lifted her effortlessly, setting her on the edge of the pool with her legs dangling in the water. Before she could question the change in position, he moved between her thighs, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts, his claws retracted.

“Beautiful,” he said reverently.

Then his mouth was on her skin—her neck, her collarbone, the curve of her breast. Each touch of his lips sent heat spiraling through her, building a delicious pressure low in her belly.

His tendrils continued their exploration, wrapping around her thighs, her waist, even teasing at the sensitive skin behind her ears.

When his mouth closed around her nipple, she arched into him with a cry.

His tongue was hot and clever, swirling around the sensitive peak before he moved to lavish the same attention on its twin.

His hands meanwhile slid lower, gripping her hips, her thighs, pulling her closer to the edge of the pool.

“Please,” she gasped, not entirely sure what she was begging for, only knowing she needed more.

He seemed to understand. One hand slipped between her legs, finding her already wet and ready for him. The first touch of his fingers against her core had her moaning, her head falling back as pleasure surged through her.

He worked her with devastating precision, as if he’d memorized every reaction, every gasp and shudder, cataloging what made her writhe beneath his touch. One finger slipped inside her, then two, stretching her deliciously as his thumb circled her clit

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble.

She forced her eyes open, meeting his silver gaze. The intensity there stole her breath—hunger and wonder and something deeper, something that made her heart race for reasons beyond physical pleasure.

“Look,” he repeated, curling his fingers inside her in a way that made her cry out.

She couldn’t have looked away if she tried. His eyes held her captive as surely as his hands, the pleasure building with each stroke of his fingers, each circle of his thumb. His tendrils tightened around her thighs, holding her open for him as he increased his pace.

The pressure built and built until she was trembling on the edge, her hands clutching at his shoulders, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

“Now,” he ordered, his voice rough with desire, and the word pushed her over the edge.

She shattered with a long wailing cry, waves of pleasure crashing through her as she clung to him. He worked her through it, drawing out her climax until she was limp and trembling in his arms.

When she could breathe again, she reached for him, wanting to return the pleasure he’d given her. Her hand slid down his chest, tracing the ridges of muscle, following the glowing markings that led lower. But as her fingers brushed his ribs, he flinched.

She pulled back, alarmed, and noticed for the first time the fresh streak of blood on his side.

“You’re bleeding,” she gasped, guilt washing over her. “Your wound reopened.”

He glanced down, seeming genuinely surprised. “Not important.”

“It is important,” she insisted, sliding back into the water. “Let me see.”

He tried to turn away, but she caught his arm. “Please. Let me help.”

After a moment, he relented, allowing her to examine the injury. The deepest of the claw marks had indeed reopened, though not severely. Still, guilt gnawed at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, gently trickling water over the wound. “I shouldn’t have?—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off, his hand catching hers. “Don’t regret.”

She looked up at him, struck by the vulnerability in his expression. “I don’t regret being with you,” she clarified. “I regret hurting you.”

Something softened in his gaze. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Not hurt.”

“Your side?—”

“Will heal,” he said firmly. “Worth it.”

The simple statement warmed her more than the hot spring ever could. She leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Let’s get you back to the cave so I can put fresh moss on that wound.”

He nodded reluctantly. As they climbed from the pool and began to dress, he kept watching her, his gaze heated despite the pain he must have been feeling.

“We’ll come back,” she promised, understanding his unspoken desire. “When you’re healed.”

A small smile tugged at his lips—rare and precious. “Yes.”

As they made their way back through the tunnel, she found herself studying the glyphs with new eyes. They told a story of survival, of adaptation, of finding beauty and purpose in a hostile world.

Not so different, she thought, from what she and Ash were building together—day by day, touch by touch, creating something neither of them had dared to hope for.

A home. A family. A future.